


Games

by Fyre



Category: Bad Education (UK TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-13 00:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1205341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows that the Hufflepuff beater has it in for the Gryffindor seeker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Games

**Author's Note:**

> The first rule of fandom seems to be that the fandom isn't classed as big until it has a Hogwarts AU. And Bad Education character in a Hogwarts-verse was too much fun to contemplate :D See my tumblr for more details.

“It’s the broom! It has to be the broom! It’s faster than he expected!”

“Ha! I think it’s Carmichael. He’s got a sixth sense for when the bludger’s coming his way.”

“Well, he always was good at divination.”

“Yeah, it’s not like Grayson ever misses anyone.”

Post-match discussions were always heated after a Quidditch match, but the big talking point this time was the fact that not only had the Hufflepuff beater failed to knock someone off their broom for the first time since he’d taken up the beater’s bat, but the fact the Gryffindor seeker managed to dodge it.

Voices were lowered when that very same beater stalked into the great hall. 

He didn’t sit at the Hufflepuff table. 

As a rule, Frank Grayson sat down anywhere he pleased, even when the houses were all meant to be divided. The only reason anyone was really sure he was in Hufflepuff was because there was no removing the Hufflepuff crest off his uniform. That and the fact that he wouldn’t let any other team beat Hufflepuff at Quidditch.

He flung himself down at the nearest table, near some alarmed Ravenclaws, and snatched one of the golden plates, filling it with portions from each of the big serving bowls. He didn’t even nod in greeting when the rest of the Hufflepuff team trooped in, even if a couple of them waved him over.

He was less than halfway through his plateful when there was laughter from the entrance hall and the Gryffindor Quidditch team strolled in. It had been a close match, within four points, and the only reason Gryffindor had snatched the win was because their Seeker stayed on his broom for the whole game.

Whistles and yells went up from the Gryffindor table, and Grayson looked up. He scowled, then knocked back the dregs of his cup, tipped the remains of his food into a bowl, and got up from the table, stalking towards the door.

“Hey! Hey Grayson!”

He hesitated, glancing back. It was the Captain of the Gryffindor team, a tall blonde girl. She threw a mocking salute after him. “Thanks for handing us the game.”

He glowered at her. “Piss off, Simba,” he snapped, and stormed out the door.

“Charming.”

Carmichael knocked her on the shoulder. “Leave him be, Tanya,” he said. “You get ratty enough when you let a goal in.”

“Is he ever not ratty?” Tanya responded. She flung an arm around Stephen’s shoulder. “C’mon, my little Seeker. Time to seek something nice to eat.”

Carmichael rolled his dark eyes. “That just gets funnier after every game,” he said dryly. 

His Captain just punched him on the shoulder.

 

_______________________________________

 

The Ravenclaw Keeper was in the medical wing.

He’d taken a bludger to the sternum and been knocked off his broom. Madame Pomfrey said there were a few ribs broken, but nothing that couldn’t be healed with a night of treatment.

“Could have been you,” Chantelle informed Stephen, leaning closer to examine her nails. “If you hadn’t been too quick, I mean.”

He waved her back to let him get on with painting them. “Maybe he was just having an off day,” he demurred. “You know I wasn’t going any faster than I usually do.”

They were in the girls’ dormitory, sitting on Chantelle’s bed, while Stephen did his magic with her collection of polish. Not actual magic, for a change, but creating miniature works of art on each of her nails with the brushes. 

“Only reason I can think of,” she agreed. “Better get some kind of shield charmy thing for next time you play. You’re the one that got away. He’ll want to knock you flying next time you play, won’t he?”

Stephen made a face. “Grumpy prick can try,” he said.

Chantelle grinned. “Maybe he remembers that time you nicked his broom, yeah?”

A wistful smile crossed Stephen’s face. “That was a good game,” he said. “I don’t think we’ve ever had more points than we did then. Fifteen goals and the Snitch? Hufflepuff didn’t know what hit them.”

“Well, Grayson knew what hit him.”

“Yeah,” Stephen said smugly. “My foot and his face.” He sat back. “And we’re all done!”

Chantelle held up her hands with a squeal. “Oh, they’re perfect, babes!” she exclaimed. She squinted at one of the images. “Is that Beaker?”

“You wanted it school-themed, and he is your school owl, isn‘t he?” Stephen said, turning to glance over his shoulder as the door opened. He waved a polish-thick brush at Jing. “Hi, babes!”

Jing frowned at him. “I’m sure you’re not meant to be in here,” she said. “No other boy can get in without the stairs tipping him back down.”

Stephen rolled his eyes at Chantelle. “This is why you’re in Ravenclaw, isn’t it?” he said, waving a hand towards Jing. “Explain.”

“Cos he ain’t interested in nicking our knickers or getting up to sex stuff,” Chantelle explained, swinging her legs off the bed and bounding over to Jing. “And look! He done my nails for me!”

Jing, forgetting her indignation at the presence of a Boy, bent over them, exclaiming in delight. She looked up at Stephen. “Can you do mine?”

Stephen beamed. “Course, babes,” he said. “What do you want on them?”

Jing glanced down at the books in her arms. “I’ll pick out some ancient runes,” she said eagerly, hurrying across to her bed and tipping the books down onto it. She dug out the runes book in question and came back over to Chantelle’s bed, sitting down. “Maybe you can pick which ones would look best?”

Stephen nodded, leaning in beside her. “Anything you like,” he agreed. 

 

_______________________________________

 

No one knew why Hufflepuff and Gryffindor had the shared potion class.

Probably because Gryffindor and Slytherin’d kill each other, and Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff would hate to try and outdo each other. Interhouse politics could get a bit silly, if people were in the mood.

It wasn’t that anyone really liked potions, but they had to do it, so they did.

Grayson had taken the seat at the back of the room, and Stephen looked around with a sigh. All the other tables had been taken, which left the only space beside the one person in the school that no one ever wanted to sit with. 

It was true Grayson had a few people who tagged along with him, but anyone who knew Grayson knew they weren’t his friends. He didn’t do friends, and everyone knew it.

“Okay if I sit here?” Stephen asked, resigned.

Grayson looked up at him, a strange expression crossing his face. “Why?”

“No seats anywhere else,” Stephen replied impatiently. 

Grayson shrugged, and kicked the other stool out for him. “Whatever.”

Stephen chucked his bag down on the floor, sitting down, propping his arms on the desk and looking up at the Professor Green. She was an unpleasant little goblin of a woman, with too much make-up and robes that were far too pink and floral for a dungeon.

They were, she informed them, going to work in pairs on an attempt at Amortentia. 

Most of the boys in the room groaned, but quite a few of the girls giggled and nudged each other. It wasn’t likely to work, Professor Green said snippily, as their skills were doubtless far beneath the requirements for making such a complex potion, but it would let them see how much work would go into one.

Stephen glanced sideways at Grayson. “So how’re you at potions?”

Grayson grunted and shrugged.

Stephen rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

Oh, it was going to be a fun class.

All things considered, Grayson wasn’t a bad partner. It didn’t come as any surprise that he was good with a knife, and he let Stephen keep the book and give the instructions. He even followed them, which Stephen didn’t expect, and the potion looked like it was actually doing what it was meant to. If he was doing the cutting and peeling himself, Stephen had a feeling it would look more like soup.

“What now?” It was the first thing Grayson had said to him in half an hour.

Stephen checked the book. “Now, we leave it to simmer on a medium heat for fifteen minutes.”

Grayson snorted. “Piss easy,” he muttered, gathering up the tools and scraps. He started clearing them away, and Stephen watched him, puzzled. No one had ever mentioned Grayson was any good at anything but knocking people off their brooms in Quidditch.

When he came back and threw himself down onto his stool, he noticed Stephen staring.

“What?”

“You know how to do potions?”

Frank shrugged. “Mum’s a cook, in’t she? Got to follow recipes and shit.”

Stephen looked did up the button of his cuff again. “You’re Muggleborn?”

“Half-blood, innit.” Grayson met his eyes, glowering. “What about it?”

“Nothing,” Stephen said with a shrug. “Just don’t know many witches who can actually cook. My mum can’t.”

Grayson subsided a bit. “Right.” He folded his arms on the desk and propped his chin on them, watching the flames under the cauldron. He gave them a poke with his wand, then returned to staring at them.

Stephen tried to pretend like he was reading, but he kept on looking sideways at Grayson. 

The boy wasn’t what he’d expected. No one warned him Grayson was actually good at potions of all things. Maybe he’d just never worked with anyone before. Maybe no one even tried to look at him and see how he did. No one knew what his grades were anyway.

When the fifteen minutes were up, Stephen got up to check the cauldron, then raised his hand.

“Professor, I think we’re done.”

Professor Green had her feet propped on her desk and was reading what looked like the crap romance novels Stephen’s mum pretended not to read. She looked over in surprise, then laughed. “Well, you might think you are…” she said, getting up.

Stephen looked into the cauldron again. Grayson had turned the heat off, and the potion was a pale, pearly colour, and there were coils of steam unfurling, and Stephen could smell the air as fresh as it was on a good Quidditch day, and coffee, and something like butterscotch.

“It looks like the book says,” he said, as Professor Green tapped her way closer, her heels clicking on the stone floor.

“I hardly think that’s likely,” she said, rising on her toes to look into the cauldron. She frowned, then took a deep breath of the steam. Her eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, she looked happy. “Oh.” She clapped her hands together briskly. “Well, it seems that points are in order, Mr Carmichael. And for you too, Mr Grayson. You seem to have succeeded in making an Amortentia potion.”

Grayson straightened up as she walked away. 

Out of curiosity, Stephen glanced at him. “You know it’s meant to let you smell the things that make you happy?” he said.

Grayson glanced at him. “Yeah.”

Stephen closed his book, then asked curiously, “What do you smell?”

Grayson’s expression didn’t give anything away. “Don’t smell nothing,” he said. “All I can smell is your aftershave, innit.”

It wasn’t until Stephen got back to his room that afternoon that he remembered he hadn’t put on any aftershave that morning.

 

_______________________________________________

 

For the second year in a row, Gryffindor were in the Quidditch final.

Hufflepuff had been knocked into third place because Grayson’s attacks meant they’d lost more points than they’d won, and the teams had seen more people end up in the medical wing in three games than a professional team would see in a season.

Where normally Grayson would be sitting on his own out of choice, even Stephen could tell that he was now in disgrace with the rest of the house. He would sit at the Hufflepuff table, but isolated from everyone else, and sometimes, Stephen glanced over to find Grayson watching him, an odd look on his face.

“Think he’s regretting that he won’t have a chance to get back at you?” Joe asked.

Stephen shrugged, loading up his plate with bacon and eggs. “If he’s got a problem with it, he shouldn’t have done such a good job of putting people in hospital,” he said. 

If Grayson had been playing by professional rules, Stephen knew he’d have been classed as a top-grade beater, but within the school, there were severe rules about how violent the game could be. Grayson just seemed to forget about it when he played, intent on taking out anyone who might beat his team.

The whole school was eager for the game. 

It wasn’t against Slytherin, because Mitchell had blown their chances when he tried to make improvements to the brooms and got them all disqualified, so it wasn’t going to be a grudge match like it had been in previous years.

Ravenclaw were in good form, and Stephen had learned on the best authority available - Chantelle - all of the weaknesses and strengths of the team, on the promise that he didn’t share the information around with everyone.

Stephen finished off his breakfast. 

He’d learned from experience that it was better to stuff your face and feel a bit sick than get hungry when a game got to four hours long. It was bad enough if your arse was aching, but being hungry just made it worse.

The team got up to shouts of good luck from their house, and Stephen made a sweeping bow, earning extra cheers. He straightened up, grinning, and skipped after the rest of the team, snatching his robe off the bench.

The Ravenclaw team were ahead of them anyway, walking briskly, since they were starting from the far end of the stadium, and Stephen was in no hurry to get there. Not like they could start without him.

He flung his robe over his shoulder and started down the steps after his own team when a voice called out.

“Oi. Carmichael.”

Stephen frowned, turning.

Grayson was standing at the top of the staircase, his hands in his pockets. “All right?”

“Yeah.” Stephen said, his frown deepening. “Something wrong?”

Grayson was silent for a minute, then stamped down the steps as if he had a grudge against them. Stephen was damned if he was backing away, even if everyone in the school believed Grayson had a grudge against him.

He stopped on the step above Stephen, rocking on the balls of his feet. 

“Good luck, yeah?”

Stephen gaped at him. “What?”

“For the match.” He looked down at his feet, then back up, impatiently. “Good luck for the match, you dick.”

Stephen shook his head. “No, I got that,” he said. “But why? You hate me.”

Grayson stared at him, then turned around and started back up the steps. He didn’t even get three stairs before he turned around. “Who told you that?” he demanded. “Which bastard’s been telling you that?”

Stephen blinked at him. “Why do…”

Before he could finish speaking, Grayson had run down the three steps, caught Stephen’s face between his hands and kissed him. Not just a little kiss either, but a proper, open mouth, all tongues kiss, and Stephen was clutching at him, startled, and his eyes were closed and god, he was being kissed and it was good.

And just as abruptly, Grayson had backed up a step, his hands jerking away, and he looked like he was about to bolt. He looked terrified, and Stephen couldn’t remember anyone ever saying Frank Grayson was gay. No one knew. No one except him.

Stephen reached out and caught his hand.

“If we win,” he said, “you can buy me a butterbeer, yeah?”

The relief lit Grayson’s face up, but he shrugged, ducking his head. “Whatever,” he mumbled. He raised his eyes to Stephen’s. “An’ if you lose?”

“I’ll need cheered up, won’t I?”

Grayson’s face broke into a small, tentative smile. It wasn’t an expression Stephen had ever seen on his face before. “I’ll get you a butterbeer,” he said, “and some Honeydukes, yeah?”

Stephen grinned and squeezed Grayson’s hand. “And maybe a bit more of that good luck, yeah?”

Grayson’s face went scarlet. “Piss off,” he said, but he was grinning too. “You’ve got a match, Carmichael.”

Stephen released his hand. “You better be cheering Gryffindor.”

“As if,” Grayson snorted, some of his usual bravado returning. “Puffs stand by the Claws. You know that.”

Stephen’s lips twitched. “Yeah, and you’d never wish another team good luck.”

Green eyes met his. “Not another team,” he said, “Just you.”

And he turned and stamped back up the stairs.

Stephen watched him go, and drew his fingertips along his lips.

Well, well.

First kiss of the year and it came from Frank Grayson. 

The Amortentia suddenly made sense.

How long, he wondered, had Grayson been hiding that little flame?

“Carmichael!”

Stephen spun around. 

Tanya was waving from further down the grounds, and he yelped, bundling his robe up in his arms and running. If he was going to kick Ravenclaw’s arse, it’d help to actually be at the grounds, instead of mooning over a snog on the steps. 

There’d be plenty of time for that later.

He grinned as he ran.

Oh, Grayson had no idea what he was letting himself in for.


End file.
